


We're Only Lost Children

by Dandalion



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alive Allison, Alive Vernon Boyd & Erica Reyes, Amnesia, Amnesiac Stiles, At least in his mind, Because Stiles is technically underage, Future Fic, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, Light Angst, M/M, Married Scott McCall/Allison Argent, Stiles Has Panic Attacks, because he's 16 in his mind and hasn't figured it out yet, so the whole "husband" thing is confusing to him, stiles has to go through discovering his sexuality over again, they have a kid
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-04
Updated: 2015-04-27
Packaged: 2018-02-07 11:03:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1896630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dandalion/pseuds/Dandalion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles wakes up from a coma only to find himself 28 years old and married to none other than Derek Hale.  He might have some adjusting to do.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so this is my first Sterek fic ever, and I'm not sure when I'll post more of it but I'm just so excited about it so I wanted to post this first little bit. The rest of the chapters will be longer for sure. Also this deviates from canon quite a bit, I would say most things after Season two aren't relevant, and more or less everyone is still alive :) I'll add characters and tags and such as they become relevant.
> 
> Title is from "Two Pieces" by Demi Lovato. Give it a listen, it's my anthem for this fic :)

"Stiles?"

"He's opening his eyes!"

"Give him some room, jeez."

"Stiles!"

"Move, let the doctor through."

Stiles forces his eyes open, even though it hurts like all hell and the room is too bright and everything is fuzzy. But everyone who's in the room seems to be really excited about it, so he figures he should at least try to be awake now. Besides, he'd really like to know what's going on, especially since someone mentioned a doctor.

"Wuzzah?" He tries to speak, only to realize his mouth is incredibly dry, and then Scott is by his side, pressing ice chips to his lips, and he's never been so grateful for his best friend. He coughs, then tries again.

"Thanks, man," he croaks out, and tries not to giggle at the doctor lightly touching him in some places that tickle. "Um...what's going on?"

"You don't remember?" Scott asks, and Stiles focuses in on his face--which, woah, why does Scott look so _old_?

"Why do you look so old, dude? How long was I out?!"

"..Stiles. What's the last thing you remember?"

Stiles glances around the room first, and after seeing his dad hovering at the foot of his bed and Lydia Martin (Lydia _Martin_?) in the corner, he beckons Scott close to him so he can whisper in his ear.

"I can't exactly talk about it in present company, comprende?" he whispers, and Scott turns to look at him with wide eyes, before turning his gaze onto Stiles' dad, who moves to the other side of the bed next to the doctor.

"Stiles, this might seem like a funny question, but can you tell me who the current President is?" the doctor asks.

"Obama," Stiles answers immediately, and the doctor's eyebrows shoot up. "Holy shit, did something happen to Obama while I was out?"

"What year is it?" his dad demands.

"Damn, this is some Captain America shit," he jokes, trying to break the sudden tension in the room. Apparently, no one else is amused. "Okay, okay, jeez. It's 2011...right?"

He watches his dad, the doctor, Scott and Lydia all share significant looks, and lets out a frustrated grunt.

"Wrong, I presume? What year is it? Holy shit, have I been in a coma for like a decade? Can I still walk? Oh, my god, what if I can't walk, someone please just tell me what's—"

"Breathe, buddy, breathe, you're fine," his dad reassures, clutching Stiles' hand. "You're...it's only been about a week, okay? I know this is scary but I just need to step outside and talk to the doctor for a moment, and then I promise we'll get this all sorted out. Do you think you'll be alright?"

Stiles contemplates him for a moment, then nods, but immediately feels the panic rising again when Scott trails after them, leaving Stiles alone in the room with Lydia. Seriously, why is she here?

"I'm so glad you're awake," she breathes out, coming to his side and taking his hand. He's holding _Lydia Martin_ 's hand. Surprisingly, it doesn't feel quite as magical as he always thought it would...it feels comforting, certainly, but he doesn't feel the urge to kiss her, really, and what the hell? Since when does he not want to kiss Lydia?

"Can you please tell me what's going on? Are we friends? When did that happen? _What freaking year is it?_ ” Lydia chuckles fondly and dabs at the corner of her eye, as if Stiles being awake made her so happy she cried a little. This is so weird.

"Okay, they're probably going to want to tell you everything after their little pow wow outside, but I'm not really one for secrets, so I'll fill you in on a few things. You were in a car accident. De—someone was driving with you and a truck ran a red and crashed into the backseat of the car. You were in the passenger side, and also on the side that got hit...it seemed pretty bad there, for a few hours, but then everything was pretty steady, only...you weren't waking up. We've all been pretty worried, but you're a fighter; I had faith."

She wipes away a fresh tear, and Stiles raises an eyebrow. "Okay, okay, jeez...it's 2023."

"I'm 28?" Stiles says, bringing his hands up to his face to press at the skin. "What the...mirror?"

Lydia's already pulling a compact out of her purse and handing it to him. He opens it slowly, not knowing how to prepare for this, how to prepare to see himself 12 years older than he was yesterday.

" _Woah_ ," he mutters, prodding at the lines that have developed on his skin, at his hair—no longer buzzcut short, but not too long either. He closes the compact pretty quickly and goes to hand it back to Lydia, feeling a little freaked out, when he sees it.

"Lydia," he whispers. "What is this?" He holds up his left hand to show her what appears to be a fucking _wedding band_ on his finger, watches as her eyes widen, and then Scott and his dad are coming back into the room.

"Okay, so the doctor says that as long as we go about this the right way, there's no reason we can't fill you in on your life now, and hopefully your memory will be jogged once we get you outta here—" his dad's voice cuts out when he sees Stiles frozen, with his hand lifted up and his gaze stuck on the ring, Lydia turning to the sheriff, speechless, and Stiles feels his chest tightening, breathing becoming difficult, before he just gives in to it and everything goes black.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merp sorry this chapter is also short I'll really try to write longer chapters from now on, because that's how I want to do it and I don't want this story to be like 23948239 chapters each like 2 words ja feel

When Stiles comes to the second time, it’s to Allison’s face swimming in front of him and a comforting, cold press to his forehead.

“I just don’t think it’s a good idea just yet,” he hears his dad saying in a hushed tone somewhere else in the room. “He just woke up, he freaked out at the sight of his ring…he thinks he’s 16 years old for Christ’s sake.”

“I know,” a rough voice replies. “I just…”

“Hey, can you two take this outside? I think he’s opening his eyes,” Allison supplies. Stiles wants to know who his dad is talking to, but by the time he gets his eyes fully open, the door is closing behind them. He glances at Allison who gives him an apologetic smile. “Sorry, sweetie…all in good time, we promise.”

“Sweetie?” Stiles feels his face contort and Allison laughs a little sadly, taking the cool towel that’s across his forehead and flipping it over.

“Yeah, sweetie,” she repeats. “Must seem so weird to you. I guess we weren’t that close for most of high school. But nowadays we’re just as much family as you and Scott.” She eyes him inquisitively before seeming to make a decision. “I’m sure you’re dying to know all about your life, but there’s not much I’ve been given the okay to say. Here’s something I can tell you though: Scott and I are married, and we have a daughter.”

Stiles smiles at the image; he’d assumed Scott and Allison would try their hardest to make it through, but the last thing he remembers is them breaking up due to the whole “Derek bit Allison’s mom to save Scott but then she killed herself so things were kinda awkward between them” thing. He supposes they got over that eventually, though.

“I’m really happy for you guys,” he finally answers, returning Allison’s smile. “I take it I was the best best man ever?”

“Of course,” Allison giggles. “You and Lydia danced down the aisle and she yelled at you when you accidentally stepped on her dress. It was perfect.” Stiles grins at the image, then frowns.

“And my wedding? Was Scott a good best man?” Allison sighs. She takes his hand and gives him a look.

“He was, yes,” she tells him. “But you know you’re not going to get more out of me, right? This is…sort of delicate. We just don’t want to freak you out.”

“A little late for that,” Stiles mumbles, looking at his left hand again, only to find the ring gone. He frowns. “What...happened to my ring?”

“Well…after the way you reacted the first time you saw it, the doctor told us to hide it just in case it became a trigger. He said it might have a negative impact on trying to get your memory back if you passed out every time you saw it.”

“It feels weird,” he admits, though even he doesn’t understand why. “I’d like it back, I think.”

“…okay, but don’t tell anyone I did this. Just say you found it, or something.” Stiles smiles when she takes it out of her bag and slips it back onto his finger. The weight of it feels comforting on his hand, but he doesn’t feel close enough to tell Allison that, even if they are such good friends now.

“Okay, well, if you won’t tell me anything about all this, I’ll just try to get it out of Scott. His resolve practically doesn’t exist to begin with.”

“Yeah, sorry about that, but we’re keeping him away from you just for that reason,” Allison confesses, giving him a sympathetic but firm look.

“You’re keeping me from my best friend in my dire time of need? That is _cold_.”

“Take it up with the doctor and your dad,” she tells him, patting his hand and standing up. “I have to get back to Scott and the kid; they’ve probably covered the kitchen in god knows what, it’s always a mess when they’re left to their own devices. Do you want me to get you anything before I leave?”

“My memory back?” Stiles jokes. She rolls her eyes and leans in to kiss him on the cheek. It’s comforting in the same way the ring is, a lingering sense of ease that he can’t quite reach. He waves goodbye to her and settles back against his pillows, tracing his ring with his fingers. It’s beautiful: simple and elegant, a gold band with a triskelion engraved on it.

Stiles wonders about that…he learned about the significance spirals hold to werewolves in some of his research, and how the triskelion can mean different things to different people. Does this mean he’s married to a werewolf? He supposes that makes sense, although it confuses him—he certainly didn’t know any female werewolves other than Erica in high school, and he knows there’s no way he landed a babe like that. He thinks about how it must be someone he met after what he can remember. He focuses hard on the triskelion and tries to remember what it could possibly mean to him. He closes his eyes and pictures it, stroking over it with his fingers, and a sudden image of a triskelion tattoo on a muscular back pops into his mind.

“No way,” he breathes out, opening his eyes slowly and staring at his ring. “No freaking way.”

His head snaps up when he hears a light knock on the door and sees his dad poke his head in.

“Hey, buddy…so this was sort of a major debate and we’re not even sure if this is the best course of action, but…I just hate keeping things from you. So….I’d like to introduce you to someone.”

His dad steps inside and someone follows hesitantly into the room behind him, and Stiles’ mouth drops open.

“No. _Freaking._ Way,” he whispers. Standing in front of him, with a timid smile on his face and a matching ring on his hand, is none other than _Derek freaking Hale_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can come find me on tumblr at dandalion, if you wish! :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for your comments and messages on tumblr! I'm glad everyone's enjoying it so far :D

Derek is _smiling_ which is freaking Stiles’ shit out, and when he takes a step closer to the bed Stiles feels himself physically recoil. He watches Derek’s face drop, furrows his eyebrows at the glance Derek gives Stiles’ dad and the sigh his dad breathes, and tries not to scream.

“I’m…gay?” he whispers, and can’t help but feel upset when his dad barks out a laugh before slapping a hand over his mouth. Now Derek has his angry face on, directed at the Sheriff, and _there’s_ the Derek Stiles knows and loves. Woah…he supposes he actually _does_ love him now, and he literally can’t see straight he’s so confused.

“Bi, actually,” Derek all but growls, still staring at John, who holds his hands up in surrender and steps towards the door.

“Um, I’m going to leave you two to talk a bit…the door is going to stay open just a crack, just in case anything…well, just in case.”

“Wait, but dad, I—“ Stiles is cut off by his dad literally fleeing the scene, and he decidedly looks anywhere but at Derek, fiddling with the frayed threads on the blanket.

“I’ll just…sit over here,” Derek offers, taking a seat in the chair across the room. It feels so distant, and Stiles actually wants him to move closer, a strange twinge in his hand seemingly begging him to hold Derek’s. But he’s not going to invite Derek closer, not when he has so much to process.

“How are you feeling?” Derek inquires, startling him out of his bizarre thoughts.

“My leg hurts,” Stiles answers immediately, though he doesn’t realize just how true it is until he says it. He tries to move his leg and fails.

“Yeah, it’s broken,” Derek informs him, looking like he wants nothing more than to be at Stiles’ side, sucking the pain out of his body. Stiles doesn’t think he’d mind that so much, but he’d really like to resolve some things first.

“So. I like boys. And girls. And I figured this out when, exactly?” Stiles tries to hold Derek’s gaze, feeling like he should be making some sort of effort here—of what, he’s not exactly sure.

“You met a girl named Caitlin, at a rave,” Derek begins. “You knew her because we helped her when her girlfriend was killed, but when she kissed you, you realized she was bi. You two became pretty close, and she helped you…discover things about yourself.”

Stiles takes a moment to process that. He closes his eyes and focuses hard on the name Caitlin, and vague images of neon paint smeared lips flash behind his eyelids. It feels like he’s watching a movie, far removed from everything he knows about his own life, and yet…and yet this _was_ his life. Still is his life, whether he can remember it or not.

“Okay, so…okay. And, um…us? When did _that_ happen? Because dude, I gotta be honest with you…all I can remember is you scaring the crap outta me, and pushing me into a lot of walls, and generally just…not liking me very much.”

Derek sighs and stands up, pacing a little and tugging at his hair. He pauses and looks up at Stiles, sucking his bottom lip into his mouth and Stiles’ breath catches. Here is this man, so much different from the Derek Hale he knew, so much lighter and older looking and seemingly happy. In that moment, he can’t deny that he’s attracted to him, even if he doesn’t quite understand it yet.

Stiles probably always knew at least on some level he liked guys; he was never opposed to their bodies in the locker room the way all the straight boys seemed to be, averting their eyes and talking about girls. He would sneak peeks, always telling himself it was because he was jealous of their bodies, but he supposed he knew better even then, knew that he liked the idea of touching their abs more than having his own look like that. Derek takes a cautious step towards him, and Stiles gives him a slight nod. Derek takes it as the hesitant invitation it is and sits at the foot of Stiles’ bed.

“We all went through a lot of shit those few years, supernaturally speaking,” he shares. “There was more after the kanima…people that betrayed us, betrayed me especially, a lot of danger and miscommunication and people dying, all of us almost dying at least once…we all had to learn to trust each other, because we didn’t have anyone else. And you and I…we fell into a sort of pattern. You’d come over to my place to research, so I’d be filled in on everything and so your dad could stay as uninvolved as possible; granted, he knows about everything now, has for a long time, but most of the time it was easier to leave him out of it. So we were around each other a lot, and even before that I’d always…”

Derek pauses, and Stiles is stunned to see him blushing. Derek Hale, _blushing_ , and not even trying to hide it. Stiles doesn’t even know what to do with himself.

“You’d always…?” he prods, having to look away when Derek makes eye contact and his eyes are shining with love (Stiles isn’t prepared to face that just yet).

“I’d always had a thing for you, but you were so annoying and there were always other things to think about and I thought you were _straight_ , always trailing after Lydia, but then…then in your Junior year, you met a boy, and everything changed, and I stopped talking to you, and most of the pack, and it got kinda weird.”

“I can imagine,” Stiles says, thinking how weird it would be if Derek just froze them out, even if they weren’t friends from the time he can remember. He was still essential to everything they were a part of, still a fixture in their lives, though a pain in the ass most of the time.

“Yeah, well, it all came to a head one night when you came barging into my loft, demanding to know why I’d been acting like ‘such a goddamn wolf baby’ and why I wasn’t answering anyone’s calls or texts when you all needed my help. There’d been a predator, an omega who was killing innocent people, and I didn’t even know about it just because I couldn’t get over my stupid crush.”

Derek huffs out a laugh, and Stiles forces himself not to look away from the adoring gaze Derek fixes on him.

“You were screaming at me, and you were so angry,” Derek continues, the corner of his lips tugging up. “You wanted to know why I’d abandoned you, why I wouldn’t call, why I was being such a shitty friend, and that’s what really got me—that you considered me a friend. So I slammed you into the wall and clamped a hand over your mouth, just to shut you up for a minute.”

“Some things never change, do they?” Stiles breathes out, returning Derek’s smile tentatively.

“Some things never change,” Derek repeats, now grinning. “I had you pressed up against the wall, and I heard your heartbeat shoot up, and the smell of desire spiked in the air…and I just knew. I knew that that boy meant nothing to you, that you’d been planning on ending things. I knew that you felt for me what I’d been feeling for you for so long. So I said to myself, ‘screw it, just give it a chance’. And I kissed you. And you kissed me back, and we rolled around on the floor, and…some other things happened.” The blush was back, and Stiles could feel his own neck heating up. “And that was sort of that. Everyone had placed actual bets on us, Stiles, it was hilarious. They came in for the pack meeting I called the next night, took one look at you, one sniff of the place, and knew you’d been there the whole time, had faked calling in sick to school. It was bizarre and different and perfect, and we’ve been in love ever since.”

Stiles sits there, a thread from the blanket wrapped so tightly around his index finger he’s sure it’s about to pop off. He can see it all so well, see himself exploding at Derek and Derek wanting to shut him up and doing so by kissing him, can see them sheepishly greeting the rest of the pack, Stiles fidgeting under their knowing looks. But it’s that same distant affect, like he’s watching someone else’s life, and he just…wants it to be his own again. Wants all of this, wants it back, even though it’s so strange to think he had it all with Derek, of all people.

“Can I ask you something?” he requests, smiling shyly when Derek nods enthusiastically. “Why are you so forthcoming with all of this information? Lydia, Allison, my dad…they made it pretty clear this was all supposed to be taken slowly, that none of you were supposed to tell me everything right off the bat, as to not freak me out or whatever. But you…you just came in and answered my questions and didn’t even try to hide anything. Don’t you think that’s a bad idea?”

“I know you so well, Stiles. I know that you’d hate me for not sharing our life with you when you’re stuck in this state. When you get your memories back—yes, when, I know you can do it—you’ll be grateful I didn’t listen to that doctor’s bullshit. What you need is to be reminded, not shut out. What good is it going to do retrieving your memories from wherever they’re locked up if I can’t help you by nudging your brain along with stories?”

Stiles smiles, unbidden, and is graced with Derek’s in return, wide on his face and so different from how Stiles remembers him. He has so many questions, and knowing Derek will give him the answers helps…but at the same time, he wants to take it easy, learn bit by bit what his life is like now, explore it thoroughly so as not to miss out on anything.

“Has the doctor said anything about when I can go home?” Stiles changes the subject. He sees something shift in Derek’s face, as if he had been preparing for battle and now doesn’t know what to do with his arsenal. He pulls it together quickly, standing and patting Stiles’ arm. Stiles tries to ignore the slight thrill that sends through his body, but judging by his smirk, Derek’s stupid werewolf sense picked up on it.

“I’ll go get the doctor, tell him you’re ready to talk about leaving,” Derek offers, running his fingers down Stiles’ arm and giving his hand a squeeze, half seemingly to reassure himself that Stiles is real and alive, and half to tease, which Stiles is a bit miffed about, but refuses to outwardly show it.

“Thanks,” he huffs, stubbornly frowning, even though he knows Derek can tell he isn’t really upset. He rolls his eyes when Derek grins at him and walks out the room; Stiles can’t help but appreciate the view, and chastises himself for doing something as cliché as checking out Derek’s _ass_.

He waits for the doctor and contemplates everything he’s learned so far: he’s bi, married to Derek Hale, his dad knows about werewolves, supernatural shit has calmed down, he’s married to _Derek Hale_ , he’s 28 years old, best friends with Lydia, Scott and Allison are married with a kid, and _he’s_ married to _Derek_.

While part of him, the very tiny part of him that feels connected to this life somehow, is calm and understands this all, it’s shoved in the back of his mind in favor of most of him, which is starting to freak out again. He takes deep breaths, counts to 20, and feels the panic ebb away; as fucked up as everything seems, he’s sure they’ll figure it out. They always do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to try to update once a week! Sorry for the wait with this chapter, I've been working and I started my class this week, and my beta was away and then started a job when she got home, so it's been a little hectic!! Should be easier to manage now though :)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :/ :/ :/
> 
> Y'all, I'm so sorry it's been so long....this year has been.....not so great for me. I'm better now, but it's been difficult and I've had to focus all of my attention on school, so unfortunately fic has gone to the wayside. HOWEVER. This semester ends in like, two weeks, and I've already started the next chapter, and I plan to focus on fic this summer :D
> 
> I'm not really crazy about how this chapter ended up, but I like where the story is going, so...I hope you all enjoy!! And thank you for your understanding and patience <3
> 
> Warning for a panic attack in this chapter.

Walking into his and Derek’s home is like being in an episode of the Twilight Zone. Scott is at his side, helping him every time he fumbles with his crutches, and his dad and Derek are behind them. He steps inside and looks around, craning his neck at the high ceilings. He can’t believe he _lives_ here.

“I can’t believe I live here,” he has to tell them, and they all chuckle, Derek looking as if he wants to kiss him. Stiles thinks he maybe wouldn’t mind so much, which is _such_ a weird thought, because it’s Derek, and whether or not he’s his husband now, he’s still… _Derek_.

They let him explore, standing around in the kitchen and making small talk while he checks out the living room, the guest room, the office. He finally comes across the master bedroom and just stands outside of it for a moment, before going for it. He steps in and flicks on the light, and is immediately assaulted. Everything feels too familiar: the smell of the room, the navy blue comforter, the dried flowers in a tall glass vase on the dresser. Stiles is overwhelmed, and he doesn’t realize what’s happening until he’s leaning against the wall, Derek in front of him, supporting him as his crutches fall.

“What’s wrong?” he’s urging, holding Stiles’ face with one hand.

“Nothing, I—“ Stiles starts, swallowing and starting over as he pulls himself up. “I’m fine. I don’t—I just came in here and felt, I don’t know. At home? Too much all at once, like I knew I belonged here but it didn’t really feel _right_ , because, well, I’ve never technically been here. Does that make sense?”

“No,” Scott says, and Stiles cracks up. It breaks the tension, though Derek still looks concerned, but Stiles just reaches up and smoothes out the lines on Derek’s forehead. 

“Hey there, sourwolf,” Stiles murmurs. “Don’t be such a downer.”

Derek is looking at him with so much love that he’s feeling the overpowering of familiarity again, so he looks away, reaching for his crutches. His dad lifts them up for him and he’s back on his own two feet, though Derek won’t let go of his arm.

“Hey, c’mon, I’m alright,” he assures, but it looks like Derek is accompanying him on the rest of his tour. They make their way into the en suite, and Stiles sighs at the sight of the large, fancy looking shower.

“Wow, I cannot wait to check out that bad boy,” he declares, and he hears his dad cough behind him. “Dad, Christ, not like that. I’ve been lying in a hospital bed for a week, can’t a guy want to clean himself?”

“Yeah, I uh, I get it,” John says, looking embarrassed. Actually, Derek is looking embarrassed too. “Let’s just say there’s a little history with this shower, and uh—“

“Oh, no,” Stiles groans, pushing past where they stand in the bathroom door and moving back into the bedroom. “Oh, no no no, _please_ tell me you didn’t—“

“He’s not the only one, buddy,” Scott chimes in, not looking embarrassed at all. In fact, he looks downright cheery, the smug bastard. “You two are very…active.”

“I think it’s time for you two to go home now,” Derek suggests, not meeting Stiles’ eyes.

“Wha—you’re not staying?” Stiles asks, a little startled. He’d just assumed his dad would stay, considering he’s used to, well, _living at home with his dad_.

“Son—I’ll be back tomorrow, I promise. But I think it’s important that we get you integrated into as many aspects of your life as possible, starting with your home.”

“But this doesn’t feel like home,” Stiles whispers, and immediately regret it. Both Scott and John look at Derek, who looks…sad. Stiles feels bad for making him feel that way, but he can’t help it. He’s a little spooked at the idea of sleeping in a strange place with a man who, up until a few hours ago, was a scary semi-stalker werewolf asshole to him.

“Sorry, Stiles, but we think it’s for the best…the doctors suggested it too,” his dad insists, and before he has a chance, they’re both patting him lightly on the back and leaving.

“Um…Derek, you, I don’t mean—“

“You said it felt like home, right?” Derek interrupts.

“Huh? Oh, yeah, well, I guess, when I walked into your— _our_ bedroom. It, uh, just hit me, sorta.”

“Instinct,” Derek mutters, looking at Stiles like he’s supposed to get it. When he doesn’t, Derek sighs, moving to sit on the edge of the bed and motions for Stiles to join him. It feels incredibly intimate, the two of them sitting on their bed together with Stiles in this condition, but he does it anyways.

“It was your instinct,” Derek elaborates, taking Stiles’ hand when he doesn’t protest. “You’re pack—even as a human, it’s possible to feel that sense of calm and comfort that wolves experience from family and pack. And you have that, with us, with _me_ …with our home. The home we made together. Do you understand what I mean?”

“Yeah,” Stiles tells him, because he knows it’s what Derek wants to hear. But Stiles _doesn’t_ understand, at least not on any real level. He doesn’t feel that connection, not wholly, not with Derek. It hurts, to think that he should, but can’t, or at least only in tiny bursts that he can’t control. Derek seems to sense his lie and smiles forlornly at him. Stiles wishes he would stop looking like that. He can’t help that he doesn’t remember.

“It’s okay,” Derek lies. Stiles doesn’t need to be a werewolf to pick up on that one. “Why don’t we get some rest? I can help you shower in the morning—don’t worry, we’ll wear our swim trunks. I’ll be in the guest room if you need me.”

Stiles nods and watches as Derek stands up and starts out of the room, instantly missing the heat of Derek’s hand in his own. He’s hit with another surge of something, this time more of a desire, and he’s up before he realizes it.

“Wait,” he calls out, louder than he needs to be considering Derek is still in their room. Derek pauses and turns back to him, and Stiles hobbles over on his crutches, pressing up and giving Derek a kiss on the cheek. He can feel how hot his cheeks are, but it’s worth it for the look in Derek’s eyes: he looks hopeful, for the first time since it became evident that Stiles wasn’t going to get his memories back right away.

“We’ll get through this,” Stiles promises, because he truly believes they will. Derek gives him a smile, nodding, and it looks genuine enough that Stiles lets him go. He shuts the door behind him and feels weird in this room, like maybe he should’ve taken the guest room, but he supposes it’s too late for that now. He strips down to his boxers and gets into bed. Hopefully tomorrow will bring more clarity.

Stiles wakes up after a dreamless sleep, thanks to the pain meds and sleep aid his doctor gave him, and takes in his surroundings. His body goes into a bit of a weird shock thing, like it thinks it should be panicking but doesn’t know for sure, and Stiles manages to calm it down as he recalls the previous day’s events. 

He’s okay, he’s safe, he’s in his house…his and Derek’s house. _Home_ , he supposes, though he’s still not sure it really feels like it. He listens for any indication that Derek is awake and doesn’t hear any, so he gets up on his own and uses the bathroom, brushing his teeth (how did he know the green toothbrush is his?) and makes his way to the kitchen to find some food.

“Hey,” he hears, and almost dies right there. Derek is there to steady him when he flails and drops a crutch. He immediately clings to Derek’s muscled arm, trying not to think about how they are very much both mostly naked right now, only in boxers, and Stiles can do nothing to hide any arousal that might present itself. He thinks of his great aunt Katherine eating the bone marrow out of a chicken wing and that about does the trick.

“Sorry,” Derek says, though he doesn’t look very sorry at all. He gets Stiles’ crutch back and lets go of him, and Stiles feels kinda cold.

“It’s cool,” he replies, and ignores Derek’s smirk. Stiles goes into the kitchen, Derek trailing behind him.

“Do you want me to make you breakfast?” Derek asks, and Stiles nods and smiles. He takes a seat at the breakfast bar, watching as Derek gets to work on an omelet. He’s about to tell Derek what to put in it, but it appears he already knows all the right ingredients, and Stiles stares in awe as Derek adds the perfect amount of cheese, tomato and spinach, with just a bit of avocado. Stiles just admires Derek’s back muscles while he’s turned away, but when he starts to harden again, examines his own nails very intently instead.

Derek flips it onto a plate and presents it to him with a flourish and a grin, and Stiles doesn’t know if he’ll ever get used to this Derek. He’s just so…open, and sweet, and…he can’t even find the words for it. He’s a total mystery, one that Stiles wants to figure out, but is also terrified to do.

They finish up their breakfast in silence, Derek mostly just watching Stiles and Stiles trying not to watch him back, feeling flustered under his gaze.  
“So,” Stiles starts, then just looks at Derek, unsure of what they should do now. “Um, I…”

“Shower?” Derek supplies, and Stiles can appreciate the fact that he’s a man of few words. He nods, and pointedly does _not_ watch Derek’s ass as he follows him into the bathroom.

“Wait here just a second,” Derek instructs. Stiles just stands there, wondering how this is going to happen without severe humiliation. When Derek returns, Stiles can’t help but burst out laughing.

“Oh, my god, what are you wearing?!” Derek rolls his eyes at him, grinning from ear to ear.

“I thought you might like these,” Derek says as he gestures down to his swimming trunks. They’re black and covered in little yellow batman symbols, and Stiles can’t even begin to process that they’re on _Derek Hale’s_ body. “You picked them out.”

“Amazing,” Stiles laughs out, still chuckling when he’s handed his own swim trunks, and Derek turns around to let him put them on. Stiles still feels a little embarrassed that he’s going to be naked in the same room as him, but puts them on as efficiently as he can with a broken leg. He clears his throat to let Derek know he’s done, and Derek sits him down on the toilet so that he can put the cast cover over Stiles’ leg.

“Alright, in you go,” Derek says, and Stiles just looks between him and the shower before moving into the stall. Derek moves in next to him, reaching around him to turn the faucet and cackling when Stiles is struck with cold water that quickly heats up.

“Asshole!” he shrieks, trying to splash at Derek, which is difficult considering he’s using him for support.

“Hey, it’s been forever since I’ve been able to get you with that one,” Derek teases. “Besides, now you’re not all tense.”

Stiles ponders this for a moment as Derek gets some shampoo into his hand and begins working it into Stiles’ hair. He certainly feels more comfortable with this than he thought he would. He closes his eyes and just lets sensation take over, leaning against Derek for support and sighing at the soothing feeling of him massaging circles into Stiles’ scalp.

Derek tilts his head back under the spray to rinse it out, and moves to wash his body with the loofah and body wash. Stiles tries desperately to think of it clinically, but can’t help his body’s reaction to Derek touching him. It makes him uncomfortable, and he’s glad that Derek seems to pick up on that and doesn’t mention it or tease him.

Derek helps him out of the shower and into a towel when he’s done, and then sits him down on the bed to take a quick shower of his own. Stiles tries not to stare when he comes out in his own towel, his chest glistening and hair dripping, looking like something out of Stiles’ wet dreams.

He mostly fails at not looking, and then thinks _fuck it_ and looks all he wants because Derek is his husband, damn it, and he’s fine as hell. Derek seems smug about it, which would annoy Stiles on anyone else, but he lets it go because Derek is putting up with a lot and it probably feels good to be reminded that Stiles is attracted to him. Not that anyone could find Derek _unattractive_ , damn, what a body.

Stiles shakes himself out of it and notices the clothes Derek has picked out for him that are laid next to him on the bed, and Derek leaving to give him privacy to change. He takes a moment though, once he’s out of his swim trunks, to really appreciate what he looks like now.

He’s muscular in ways he wasn’t in high school, more defined and less…gangly. His arms are far from skinny now and he turns around to look at his ass, which is pretty perky if he says so himself, followed by strong, thick thighs. He smiles to himself, thinking that he never used to be able to find the confidence he feels now, and is glad that he doesn’t remember the rest of his years of insecurity, knowing how shitty it felt from what he _can_ remember.

On the other hand, he thinks as he gets dressed, he does wish he could remember everything, even the bad stuff. This is just so stupid, being stuck in this world and life that’s so unfamiliar to him, and yet somehow so familiar. His entire body, his heart, his core, feel like they belong, know how to move and how to be in this space. But his mind is stuck so far in the past that none of it makes sense, and he can feel his chest expanding, his breaths coming in short and quick.

He sits himself down as the panic builds, tries to call out to Derek, who must rush in at some point, but Stiles doesn’t remember, can’t put together what’s happening around him. He knows he’s having an attack, but one second he’s aware of it and the next he’s swallowed up in it, completely lost to the feelings of confusion and fear and uncertainty. 

Derek’s saying something to him, but the words don’t make sense, _nothing_ makes sense. It’s only when he feels a hand over his chest, right where his heart is, and his hand pressed against another chest, the steady beat of Derek’s heart against his palm, that he begins to center himself back in reality.

They sit like that for who knows how long, hands to hearts, Derek breathing with him and murmuring words and sentences and encouragements of love, but Stiles blocks them out; that’s part of the problem, that Derek is so _in love_ with him, and Stiles has no idea what to do with that. He’s at a complete loss as to how he’s supposed to function.

He’s finally done panicking, though, and he takes his hand away, moves Derek’s away from his body when he doesn’t do it himself. He doesn’t want to be touched right now, doesn’t want to be reminded of the pure adoration he can’t reciprocate anymore. He just doesn’t know what to do, and he hates it.

“I think,” he starts, then clears his throat. “I think, maybe…I’m a little more freaked out than I thought.”

Derek just nods, seeming unsure what to say. That’s okay, Stiles thinks, because he has a lot he wants to say.

“I don’t know you,” he tells him, and watches Derek’s face fall. He hates putting that frown there, but he needs to get this out. “I woke up yesterday and all of the sudden was thrust into this life that I don’t belong in. No, I don’t belong here, no matter how much you all tell me I do. And I…I want to learn, about all of it, about us and about what I don’t remember, but…I think we need to go slow. Very, very slow. I’m already overwhelmed, and we’ve barely even talked about things…maybe for the time being, Scott could come over and help me shower, and things like that.”

Derek is nodding, though his expression grows more and more upset as Stiles speaks. Stiles brings a hand up to smooth away the lines of worry in his forehead, but drops it before he touches Derek, and at that, Derek’s face becomes guarded, and he stands.

“You’re right,” he says, though it doesn’t sound like he believes it. “I’ve been treating you like my husband, like you know me, like…like you didn’t forget. And that’s not fair. We can go as slow as you need to, I—well, it doesn’t matter. I’m here for you, okay? This is about you, and what we need to do to help you get better.”

Stiles smiles at him, though it feels forced. Derek leans down to give him a kiss on the forehead, and neither of them flinch when he does, which seems like a step in the right direction. Stiles is still kind of freaked by this new, affectionate Derek, but he tries not to let it show.

“I think I need a nap now,” he declares, missing Derek’s warmth as he moves to the door.

“Just call me if you need anything,” Derek says, almost begs, before leaving and closing the door behind him.

Stiles feels like they just ended something here, which is not what he was trying to do at all. He feels like they’ve put up a wall between them, but what he wants to do—what he _needs_ to do—is destroy the walls already built inside his memory. He thinks maybe he’ll try to explain it better later—for now, he settles into bed and almost instantly passes out.

**Author's Note:**

> Please let me know what you think!
> 
> Also if you want you can come find me on tumblr at dandalion :)


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